


Paper Chase

by foxxcub



Category: Bandom, Empires (Band), Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-04
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2020-10-06 18:00:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20511158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxxcub/pseuds/foxxcub
Summary: Spencer texted Ryan on his way back to the dorm,I'm now officially a Christmas Correspondent for Walker's charity.A minute later he got back:lolololol.(A college AU where Spencer is a journalism major and Jon is the guy who made his life hell in high school.)





	Paper Chase

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to Livejournal December 2009 for the Bandom Christmas Exchange drawn_to.

It wasn't the greatest assignment ever, but Spencer couldn't really complain; he'd been trying for the last three months to get a spot on the college's newspaper, and it wasn't until a senior reporter decided to graduate early that Spencer got the offer from Pete.

Well, that, and the fact that Spencer had been forcing his mediocre soccer-playing skills on the school's team in order to schmooze. He didn't see any game time, but it put him on Pete Wentz's radar. Small talk with the team captain—who also happened to be the editor-in-chief of _The Daily Tribune_—made up for Spencer's lack of goal-scoring talent.

And so here he was, one of the few freshman on the student newspaper, working on the first special interest story of his college career. So what if it was a fluff piece about a senior who organized charity photo sessions with Santa every Christmas for underprivileged kids? Spencer's name would be on the byline, and it would be one more story to add to his portfolio. It didn't matter that Spencer wasn't wild about Christmas in general; a story was a story. And this would be cake...

...Except for the part where the entire story would revolve around Jon Walker.

"Are you _kidding me_?" Spencer cried.

Pete cocked his head to one side. "What, you got something against fake Santas?"

"No, fake Santas are great, seriously, I just." He flailed his hand helplessly, holding his assignment in the other. "I can't interview this guy."

"How come? I've hung out with him a couple of times, he's pretty awesome."

"It's." Spencer took a deep breath. "It's a really long story. Can't I just cover the holiday bake sale?"

Pete shook his head. "Nope, I'm pretty sure Greta's already on it. Look, for real, whatever you have against Walker I'm sure all the preciousness of the little kiddies and their wish lists will melt your cold, dead heart, Spence." He winked at him, and Spencer kind of wanted to die.

"So much for fucking cake," he mumbled under his breath as he scooped up his messenger bag and pouted all the way back to his dorm.

~

_It's his second full day in a school full of unfamiliar faces and hundreds of miles away from home. Bad enough he's starting high school without his best friend, but he also doesn't know the city at all, except for the fact that his dad's company is headquartered here. Spencer basically hates any and all things related to Chicago._

_But he's made it through his first day in one piece, and without missing Ryan _too_ badly. Spencer starts to hope that maybe things won't be so bad after all._

_Then he accidentally runs straight into Jon Walker's locker door on his way to American History._

_As Spencer staggers back and almost lands flat on his ass, he hears a voice laugh and call out, "Whoa, watch it!"_

_By the time Spencer catches himself and looks up, there is a crowd of about half a dozen upperclassmen watching him blush all over the place._

_And in the center of them all is Jon._

_"You okay, Bambi? Those legs look pretty wobbly," he says, smirking as he leans against his locker. The other kids chuckle._

_Spencer takes a deep breath, trying to will himself into invisibility. "Sorry," he mumbles._

_"Hey, no worries. The forest can be a tricky place without Thumper to guide you." The rest of Jon's friends laugh, and Spencer felt something very much like mortification churning in his gut. He ducks his head, turning quickly on his heel; he doesn't care about making it to class on time, he just wants to get the hell away from the laughter. Spencer doesn't need a reminder that he's awkward and a little gangly in the wrong places and the totally uncool new kid._

_He's halfway down the hall when he hears Jon call after him gleefully, "Say hi to Flower for me!"_

_Spencer spends the next hour hiding in the library before showing his face again—and staying very clear of the senior hallway._

~

"Wait, you're what?" Ryan frowned at Spencer over the top of his British literature anthology as Spencer stalked around their dorm room.

"You heard me," Spencer sighed, jerking both hands through his hair. He'd been able to get through nearly four months of college without having to see Walker's face. Sure, he knew Walker went to the same school, but he was in his senior year; there was no reason for Spencer to have to interact with him. And he'd figured it was worth the slight chance of running into him to be able to go to school and be roommates with Ryan.

Now? He wasn't so sure.

"Y'know, I think I heard about this charity of his, actually," Ryan replied thoughtfully, like he was completely unaware of Spencer's meltdown. "Clicks for Kids, or something. Pretty ingenious idea, I can see why Pete would want—"

"Ryan." Spencer came to an abrupt halt in the center of the room and shot him his most withering glare. "The guy made high school a humiliation for me. I don't give a shit about his stupid charity."

"Oh, please, so he named you after a Disney animal. Brendon got thrown in dumpsters up until his junior year."

Spencer really liked their suitemate a lot, but this was about _him_ right now, damn it.

"I was the fucking laughing stock of the school for years thanks to him. And now..." Spencer kicked petulantly at his desk chair. "Now I'm supposed to write up the first real story of my college career about how awesome he is."

Ryan shrugged. "Think of it as not about him so much as it is about the charity. It's Christmas and Santa and little kids, Spence. Nothing bad can come of that."

The thing was, Spencer knew he would've gotten over that one incident, and maybe even eventually forgotten about Jon and his stupid Disney references. But it was a little hard to forget everything when Jon spent that entire year calling out, "Hey, Bambi!" every time he spotted Spencer at school, and eventually it took on a life of its own; random people started calling him "Bambi Smith," until even freshman knew his nickname by the time Spencer was a senior.

Though he'd never admit it out loud to anyone in a billion years, Jon Walker was the reason Spencer grew a beard after graduation and took to wearing a lot of black. He'd be damned if he was going to go off to college as fucking _Bambi Smith_.

"Fuck Christmas," Spencer muttered, which was the exact moment Brendon decided to wander into their room and head straight for the mini fridge to steal from Spencer's supply of Dr. Pepper. But he stopped short and gave Spencer a look of abject horror.

"Christmas is _Christmas_, Spence," he said softly, as if Spencer had trampled his puppy.

"Ignore him, he's got to write a fluff story on Jon Walker's charity," Ryan drawled as he went back to his British lit book.

Brendon blinked, then beamed happily. "Dude, Clicks for Kids! Yeah! How awesome is that, seriously? Why no one's ever done something like that on a bigger scale, I have no clue."

Spencer huffed loudly. "I'm gonna study at Starbucks," he said, grabbing his laptop bag. "You and my douchebag roommate can have the place to yourselves."

As he stormed out of the suite, he heard Brendon ask, "Did I say something wrong?"

"No," Ryan replied in a bored tone. "Spencer's just learning how to purge all his high school angst."

~

Saturday morning Spencer found himself standing in front of an old photo shop downtown. From the looks of things, the place had been out of business for years. _Meyer's Photo_ was scrawled across the dusty windows in faded blue letters, and the area itself was all but deserted of any real commerce. The only sign that there was anything going on inside was the gaudy Christmas wreath on the door and the bright green sign underneath announcing the third annual Clicks for Kids.

He was still frowning at the sign, trying to figure out where to go next, when a breathless voice behind him said, "Hi! Are you trying to find the studio?"

Spencer looked over his shoulder to see a scruffy guy holding a Santa suit in one arm and a huge tripod in the other. "Uh...yes? I'm with _The Daily Tribune_ and I was wondering—"

"You wanna interview Jon, sure." The guy nodded as he attempted to shift the tripod and Santa suit at the same time. "D'you mind giving me a hand? I had to run five blocks to get this damn suit from the cleaners. Fucking Luciani, he sweats through the thing in, like, an hour. We were supposed to be open for business half an hour ago, I'm surprised the kids aren't lined up already."

"Um." Spencer didn't know how to process any of what the guy just said, so he held the door open and followed him inside.

"Oh, and I'm Tom, by the way. I help Jon with all the pictures. And when I'm not doing that, I'm his errand boy." He laughed good-naturedly as they passed through the empty shop to what appeared to be a studio in the back.

"I'm, um, Spencer."

"You go to school with Jon?"

He hated the sudden furious blush he felt in his cheeks. "Yeah."

"Figured as much. He'll be super excited to know the school paper wants to interview him."

"Awesome," Spencer muttered under his breath as Tom opened a door covered in red, chipped paint with a handwritten sign declaring _Santa's Workshop!!_ in big sloppy block letters. Faint strains of _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ came from inside, and suddenly Spencer was hit with the very strong scent of peppermint.

"Welcome to the North Pole!" Tom said with a huge grin. "Just hang out for a sec, I'll go get Jon."

Spencer took a deep breath as he looked around the room. Giant presents with big, shiny bows were stacked everywhere, along with fake snow and about a billion twinkling Christmas lights. There was a large backdrop of a window looking out onto a winter wonderland, and sitting in front of the backdrop was a big red plush chair with a roll of fake parchment laying in the seat.

Much to his chagrin, Spencer had to admit the studio set-up was pretty amazing. He weaved his way through the photography equipment littering whatever floor space that was free of fake snow and picked up the parchment roll. At the top it read "Santa's List".

"Want to add something to that?"

Spencer jumped about a foot, dropping the list on the floor. "Sorry, I was just taking a look around." He smiled sheepishly as he glanced up, expecting to see Tom.

Instead, he was face-to-face with Walker, who was smiling back at him.

"No worries," he said. "My handwriting's shit, anyway." He rolled his shoulders in a self-deprecating, 'aw shucks' kind of way. Walker looked thinner than Spencer remembered, his hair shorter, and his arms looked a little more cut than they did in high school—not that Spencer had ever, _ever_ noticed Walker's arms or his hair, or his stupid goofy grin that made the corners of his eyes crinkle back in high school, because Walker wasn't hot. At all. It was just his stupid t-shirt kind of showed his arms off.

Yeah, Spencer definitely still hated him.

He cleared his throat. "I'm—"

"Spencer Smith, from Fair Valley High, right?" Walker's smile got broader. "Wow, it's been a while, huh?"

"I guess." It was too much to hope that Walker wouldn't remember him, although Spencer was actually a little shocked he remembered Spencer's _real name_. "I'm here to interview you about the charity for the school paper."

"You're a reporter? Thought you played soccer."

_Like you ever knew anything about me_, Spencer thought. "I'm a journalism major, and I still play soccer sometimes," he replied coolly as he dug his notepad out of his bag.

"That's awesome, I used to be a journalism major, too. But turns out the whole art major route was more my taste." He gestured to the studio at large with his big, dopey grin.

Spencer wasn't there to make small talk with him. He had a story to write. "So you wanna do this now, or—"

"Hey, tell you what. The kids are going to be showing up here any minute now and I've still got some things to finish up with, not to mention my Santa isn't even dressed yet. How 'bout you hang around, see us in action, and then we'll talk? It only goes for a couple of hours, and then we break for lunch."

Spencer didn't want to see Walker in action, and he certainly didn't want to spend two whole hours doing it. But it didn't look like he had much of a choice.

"All right," he sighed.

Walker actually gave Spencer a thumbs up. "You'll enjoy it, trust me."

Spencer smiled weakly.

~

Santa, aka Walker and Tom's friend Ryan J, loved to get the kids talking. Unlike a usual photo session with Santa, Walker didn't pose the kids; instead he just let Ryan J start asking them about Christmas and how many reindeer they'd seen and what kind of cookies they thought Santa liked. Spencer hovered near the laptop where Tom monitored the pictures Jon took with his digital camera, and every shot seemed candid and real.

Then Walker would ask the kids what presents they were hoping for, and he'd scribble them all down on the fake parchment. And seeing as these were kids with hardly anything at home, their wishes were usually simple and a little bit humbling.

"I want pink socks to wear to church on Christmas Eve!" a little blond girl announced as she bounced on Santa's knee.

Her mother, who was standing beside Spencer, rolled her eyes and laughed. "Don't you mean red socks, Sam? Pink isn't a very Christmas-like color."

"Pink is _my_ favorite color, Mommy," Sam replied in exasperation.

Spencer covered his grin with his hand, ignoring the way Walker looked over and winked at him for the half dozenth time.

Noon finally rolled around, and once the last set of kids were out the door, Ryan J ripped his beard off and heaved a sigh of relief.

"Jesus, Tom, what'd you crank it up to, a billion degrees? I'm dying over here." He slumped back in the chair, fanning himself with his Santa hat, his hair soaked and plastered to his forehead. "No one wants a Santa with pit stains, Conrad."

"For fuck's sake, it's only, like, seventy-two. It's not my fault you sweat like a goddamn pig!"

Walker laughed and nodded at Spencer, who was finishing up a few notes he'd taken during the shoot. "We're like an old married couple in here, write that down," he said.

Spencer almost smiled at that. Almost.

"So hey, there's a diner down the street from here," Walker added as he packed up his camera. "We could grab some lunch and I'll answer all the questions you want to throw at me."

If he weren't starving to death, Spencer would demand that Walker just do the damn interview at the studio and screw this whole lunch date business. Not that it _was_ a date, god, but it _sounded_ way too much like a date in Spencer's head.

"Fine," Spencer said. "But you're not buying my lunch."

"Sorry, was this a date?" Walker replied with a smirk, and just like that, Spencer felt like he was fifteen all over again.

~

Spencer ordered coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich and didn't meet Walker's eyes as he laid out his previous notes on the table. He tried his best to keep everything professional, which meant not feeling a constant sense of dread that Walker was going to suddenly ask how Bambi Smith came to be at Chicago University without him ever knowing about it.

It also didn't help that the entire wait staff of the diner seemed to know Walker, and Walker smiled and greeted them all on a first name basis.

Whatever. If Spencer hurried, he could be done with this in under twenty minutes.

"So, how did you get the idea for Clicks for Kids?" he asked, scribbling the date at the top of a clean sheet of note paper.

Walker shrugged as he sprawled out in the booth across from Spencer, his arms stretched across the back of the seat. He looked too much like a contented cat. "When you're a kid, getting to see Santa's kind of a big deal, you know? Two years ago I was doing an internship at a photography studio, and I would see how much parents would spend on Christmas pictures of their kids. I started thinking about all those parents who couldn't begin to afford that kind of luxury, and that their kids probably never got pictures with Santa, unless they were lucky enough to be in the huge line at the mall. I mentioned it to Tom, and the two of us figured it would be worth it to just take the pictures of the kids ourselves. For free."

"And you mail the photos for free, too?"

"No, we hand deliver them, mostly. The kids usually live in this neighborhood, or close by. Tom and I run the studio for four weeks starting the week before Thanksgiving, and then we spend the fifth week delivering the photos. It's like an early Christmas, sort of. I get to wear the Santa hat." Walker grinned crookedly, and there was a slight blush across his nose.

Spencer looked away and frowned down at his notes. "Has Ryan J always been Santa in your shoots?"

"Naw, Tom tried it the first year, but it's just not his thing." Walker sat up a little straighter and reached across the table, tapping his index finger against the top of Spencer's hand. "Hey, are you busy tonight? Tom and Ryan's band is having a jam session tonight, just an acoustic thing, but it should be pretty fun."

Spencer nearly choked. Seriously, the same Jon Walker who'd cooed at him in the halls four years ago was inviting him to see his friend's band? (He refused to think of it as a date, _definitely_ not a date.) What parallel universe had he fallen into?

"Um." He kept his head down as he finished writing out a few more quotes. "I'm, uh. Not twenty-one."

"It's eighteen to get in, and the management isn't too hardcore about it." Walker folded his hands on the table and rested his chin on them, looking up at Spencer with wide, expectant eyes. "Honestly, this is just my lame attempt to get more people there. Tom's convinced no one will show up, even though they're a really awesome band."

For some stupid reason, it pissed Spencer off even more that Walker wasn't _actually_ inviting him somewhere. "Sorry, I've got finals to study for, not to mention this story needs to be—"

"It'll only be a couple of hours, c'mon." He plucked Spencer's pen neatly from his grasp and jotted the address of the club down on a napkin. "They go on at nine, if the band before them doesn't go long."

Spencer sniffed and didn't make any move to take the napkin. "You're seriously inviting me to this?" he finally blurted out, much to his horror. He barely resisted slapping his hand over his mouth.

Walker laughed. "Sure, why not? You're into music and stuff, right?"

_Yeah, Bambi Smith's super hip_, he thought bitterly, closing his notepad and gathering up the rest of his notes. And yet, against his better judgement, he found himself replying, "I don't know. I'll think about it." He grabbed the napkin and stuffed it in his pocket.

He most certainly did not look up and see the way Walker grinned and said softly, "Good."

~

"Okay, one more time. Explain to me why we're _not_ going to a cool club to hear a cool band with cool people?"

"They're _not cool_," Spencer hissed, throwing his pillow at Ryan's head. "Fuck, you _know_ I can't go. And who the hell does Walker think he is, anyway? Just—just randomly inviting me to places and thinking I'll actually _go_."

Brendon was lying across the end of Ryan's bed with his feet up against the wall, allowing him to frown at Spencer upside down. "He seems pretty cool to me, Spence. Maybe he forgot about all that stuff in high school. I mean, it was years ago, dude, people move on."

Spencer flopped onto his back and glared at the ceiling. "That still doesn't mean I have to like that fact that he thinks he's all, like, fucking _charming_ and all, 'Oh, you like music, don't you?' Yes, I'm a goddamn college student, of _course_ I like music."

Ryan snorted. "God, the nerve," he drawled.

"Wait a sec." Brendon scrambled into a upright position and pointed a finger at Spencer. "Hold up, you're sexually attracted to him, aren't you? And this is all, like, unresolved tension between the two of you!" He rubbed his hands together. "Oh man, it's like a really awesome episode of _Bones_, only, y'know, without the dead bodies."

Something very much like panic fluttered in Spencer's chest. "No. He's not even remotely attractive, anyway, so—"

"Uh, whatever, Spence, he's totally hot," Ryan said as he poked Brendon in the ribs with his toe.

"If you're into short, Hobbit-looking guys with lisps and weird noses."

"Spence, I'm not even _gay_ and I think he's hot."

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out that Ryan was all but half-sprawled in Brendon's lap. "Whose side are you on anyway?" he mumbled instead.

"He obviously thinks you're cool enough to be seen around his friends' band," Brendon said. "Maybe he deserves a second chance?"

Spencer wasn't in the mood to give second chances, not when he could clearly remember all the cartoon deer drawn inside the front cover of his senior yearbook. Walker was a dick, plain and simple, and he was _not_ going to let Ryan or Brendon get away with thinking Spencer actually _wanted_ him.

"Okay, fine." Spencer sat up and folded his arms across his chest. "Let's go to the damn show."

Ryan narrowed his eyes. "You're sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure. You two obviously really want to go, and so what if Walker's there? It's not like I have to acknowledge him or anything."

"Awesome!" Brendon said, bounding off the bed for his adjoining room. "I'm gonna text Patrick and see if he's up for going, too. I think he might even know this band already." Brendon's roommate was another fellow music major with an emphasis in composition, but unlike Brendon, he spent every moment of his free time in the rehearsal rooms of the music building. At least Brendon came up for air once in a while; Spencer rarely saw Patrick unless it was three in the morning and Patrick was up late with his MacBook in the bathroom, finishing up a piece in Garage Band.

Ryan still eyed Spencer suspiciously.

"Just stop," Spencer huffed. "You got what you wanted, quit second-guessing shit."

"Yeah, I'm just trying to figure out what _you_ want out of this," Ryan replied with a thoughtful smirk.

"What I _want_ is to get this whole thing over with. And maybe, possibly, a beer."

~

_It's not Spencer's first dance, but it's definitely his first Homecoming experience. He wants nothing more than to be home in his sweats, IMing Ryan dirty jokes he's learned in gym and watching horror movies in his room. But Haley, the cute girl in his Biology class, asked if Spencer wanted to be her date, just as friends, and Spencer figured it's time to be an actual guy, regardless of the fact that he can't dance to save his life._

_He's dressed in his nicest slacks and a dark red dress shirt with a black tie, and so fucking nervous he feels like he's going to vibrate out of his own skin. Haley looks gorgeous, but she's only half paying attention to him in favor of comparing dresses with her friends. Spencer's totally fine with that—the less attention on him, the better._

_Then a familiar voice says in his ear, "Hey there, Bambi, you clean up pretty nice."_

_Spencer immediately tenses and doesn't turn his head. If he does, he knows he'll be almost nose to nose with Jon Walker, and that's the absolute _last_ thing he wants right now._

_"Thanks," he replies through clenched teeth._

_"Your date's ignoring you, by the way."_

_Spencer looks over in Haley's direction, but Jon forces himself into Spencer's line of sight. Their eyes meet, and Spencer hates more than anything that his pulse races a little. Jon's not even dressed up, just has a dark blazer over a worn Guns N' Roses t-shirt with jeans and his damn flip-flops, but he looks...perfect. Like always._

_Spencer glares fiercely. "She can ignore me all she wants, we're just here as friends." He crosses his arms over his chest, suddenly feeling frumpy and awkward._

_"Then I'd say you need better friends, Bambi." Jon grins crookedly at him before leaning in and adding, softer, "You're too pretty to be ignored, y'know?"_

_Pretty. Fucking_ pretty. _Spencer feels heat bloom in his cheeks, and he wishes he had the guts to punch Jon in the face._

_But a group of seniors yell for Jon, laughing. Jon winks at Spencer and runs off before Spencer can even form a response._

~

It was a tiny, tiny club, barely large enough for a hundred people, tops. The bar was butted up against the stage, which hardly looked big enough to hold a drum kit, let alone an entire band. But somehow it worked, and when Spencer arrived the opening band was well into their set.

He could see Tom by the bar, along with Ryan J and a few other guys Spencer didn't recognize. He told himself he was just checking out the crowd as he glanced around the room, his heart beating a little harder.

"I don't think Jon's here," Ryan said, practically yelling in Spencer's ear over the band.

"So?" Spencer yelled back, and it was a good thing the place was so dark, because he didn't need his blush being so obvious.

Ryan gave an extremely innocent shrug. "Just pointing it out, that's all."

"You're concern is duly noted." And yet that was the moment he happened to catch Tom's eye. Spencer got a grin and a happy head nod, and he let himself wave back; Tom was cool, he was worth the acknowledgment—as long as he didn't turn around and somehow produce Walker out of thin air.

They managed to find an empty space of wall at the back of the club, right next to the deejay booth. The opening band finished their set right as Brendon appeared with a handful of Bud Light bottles.

"Patrick knows the bartender!" he said, beaming at Spencer as he handed him a beer. "I think they have a theory class together or something."

Spencer glanced back at the bar, where Patrick appeared to be deep in a serious conversation with some scruffy blond guy who looked like he could bench press Patrick with one hand. Not exactly the type Spencer took for a music comp major.

He was nearly through his beer by the time Tom's band went on, and that one beer was enough to hit Spencer's empty stomach. Soon he was plenty relaxed and happy and not at all regretting his decision to let Ryan talk him into coming. Tom's band was really good, better than most local bands Spencer had seen in the last year or so.

Halfway through their set, Ryan J, who was on drums, gave a shout-out to Clicks for Kids.

"If you're short on cash this Christmas and want to get your kids something they'll remember, go let my friends Jon and Tom help you out. Or, there's a giant stocking begging for cash donations." He grinned as he held up said stocking from behind his kit, and several cheers came from the crowd.

As far as fund raising went, it wasn't a half-bad idea.

"Spence, there's some guy who keeps taking your picture," he suddenly heard Patrick say. He nudged Spencer in the side and pointed toward the stage.

Just beneath a set of speakers stood Walker, camera in hand. But it wasn't aimed at the band—he was pointing the thing at _Spencer_.

He felt a weird surge of panic and anxiety. How long had Walker been there? How had Spencer gone the past hour without seeing him at all? How—

Walker somehow caught him staring, because he slowly lowered his camera and smiled, giving Spencer a small, two-fingered wave.

"Wait, isn't that the guy doing the charity with Tom?" Patrick asked.

Spencer swallowed and kept his gaze on the stage, and not on Walker's stupid fucking camera, or his stupid fucking grin.

"Hey, I think I'm gonna get some air," he replied, abruptly pushing off the wall and weaving his way through the crowd to Ryan and Brendon. He absolutely did not look up to see if Walker was watching him, or still photographing him, or _whatever_.

Thankfully, Ryan was toward the back of the crowd, watching with an affectionate smirk as Brendon almost literally threw himself into each song. They always liked going to concerts with Brendon—he almost more entertaining than the band itself.

Spencer grabbed Ryan's arm and yelled over the music, "I'm going back to the dorm."

"What? The set's barely halfway over!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Walker moving through the crowd, camera lens still poised and ready. "Yeah, I'm beat. Think I need to turn in early. I'll see you in the morning."

He turned and pushed his way back out of the crowd, not waiting for Ryan to convince him to stay.

~

The story on Clicks for Kids was finished on Sunday and turned in on time to Pete on Monday. Spencer felt a sense of closure when he sent off the Word document; that was the last he'd have to deal with Walker and all his Christmas charity crap.

Except Pete liked the story a lot. A _lot_, a lot.

"Spence, this is great stuff!" he said. "I especially really enjoyed the little soundbites you got from the kids, that's genius."

He couldn't help blushing. "Thanks. They were really cute, actually." Which totally wasn't a lie; Spencer had secretly enjoyed watching the kids' wide-eyed awe at getting their own personal one-on-one time with Santa.

Pete snapped his fingers. "Oh my god, I just had the _best_ idea. We've got, what, three weeks until Christmas? That's two more issues to print, and we could totally have you do two more continuing pieces on the kids—like a follow-up story! You could talk to them, get more cute quotes...shit like that is _perfect_ for the holidays."

"You...want me to go back?" Spencer could feel a throbbing beginning just behind his right eye.

"Just for the next week or two, however long it takes you to get enough material for two stories. You'll be like our 'Christmas Correspondent'!" Pete made happy airquotes, and Spencer wanted to bang his head against a wall.

He texted Ryan on his way back to the dorm, knowing Ryan was still in his Advanced Comp class. _I'm now officially a Christmas Correspondent for Walker's charity._

A minute later he got back: _lolololol_

~

He didn't announce himself the following Saturday; instead, Spencer slipped inside with a couple of families waiting outside the photography studio and managed to avoid being seen by Walker for all of five minutes.

"So, the infamous journalist returns," Walker said with a much too smug grin, and Spencer would have had a bored, snarky reply for that had Walker not been sitting on the ground wrestling with a very happy dog.

"Puppy!" one the littlest kids exclaimed.

It looked to be a black Belgian Shepard, and a bit on the small side, if Spencer knew his breeds at all. Which he did. Spencer loved dogs.

He glowered as Walker stuck a Santa hat on the dog and let it race over to the kids.

"I let Marley come to the shoots sometimes. He's good moral support." Walker was still smiling up at Spencer from his spot on the floor, half-covered in fake snow.

"He's good with kids?" Spencer heard himself ask, and he told himself it was just an interview question.

Walker got up and brushed the snow off his jeans. "Oh yeah, he just loves the attention. Believe me, he lives at home with two cats. The kids are easy." He laughed as an older boy got Marley to roll onto his stomach and flail his paws in the air.

Ironically, Spencer almost wished he had a camera with him.

"You didn't tell me why you're back," Walker said. He was closer now, and bits of white glitter clung to his bangs. "And you disappeared on me last weekend—I didn't get to ask you how you liked Tom's band."

"Pete wants me to do a continuing series on your charity. And yeah, they were really good." Spencer was still trying to get over the fact that Walker had a dog and _two cats_, what the hell.

"Are you sure this isn't just your desperate attempt to spend more time with me?"

Of course Walker was kidding. Spencer knew he was kidding, but it was as if his brain and his body were still hardwired to react the same they did when he was fifteen. He flushed hotly and looked back at the kids with Marley.

"I'm just here to write a story for my editor," he replied sharply, hating the rise in his voice. "I don't have to interview you at all this time, so you might as well act as if I'm not even here."

Walker laughed. "Yeah, right." Then he clapped his hands and called, "Marley, c'mere! Let's take some pictures with Santa, what do you say?"

The kids squealed happily, and when Ryan J finally emerged in full Santa gear, Walker let Marley stay in the pictures at each kid's request.

There were at least three wishes for a new puppy for Christmas. One girl even asked for Marley.

"Sorry, he's all mine. He protects me from the dark," Walker replied, making the girl giggle and hold on a little tighter to Marley's coat as the camera flashed.

It was all pretty disgustingly cute. And Spencer didn't notice at all how closely Marley listened to Walker's every command.

"Glad you came back, Spencer," Tom said in a hushed voice as Walker took the last family's pictures. "Jon kept talking about whether or not you'd show up again, and I figured you'd stop in sometime."

Spencer swallowed. "Why would you think that?"

Tom shrugged. "Jon likes you, I guess. He always makes more of an effort to keep the people he likes around. Not that it's all that hard—I mean, shit, the guy can make friends with a stop sign." He chuckled to himself, then went back to monitoring the proofs on his laptop.

Spencer had a sudden urge to tell Tom he was wrong, so, so wrong, that the Jon Walker _he_ knew didn't actually think of him in terms of a friend—Spencer was just an inside joke, a hilarious footnote to Walker's high school career.

"Yeah, I...think you're probably reading too much into it," he replied, giving a lame little self-deprecating laugh. "Trust me, Walker doesn't want me around."

Tom just smiled. "All right, if you say so."

Spencer glanced up and saw Marley looking straight at him, tail wagging and grinning his doggy grin, tongue and all. At his better judgment, Spencer knelt down and called softly, "Here, boy," holding his hand out. He missed his dogs at home with his parents too much, missed getting unwavering attention and affection from them on a daily basis.

Marley bounded over to him, barking happily as he butted his head up against Spencer's hand, and Spencer didn't miss the way Tom drawled behind him, "Well, at least his dog likes you."

A second later, Walker called, "Hey, I thought I wasn't supposed to even notice you were here."

"You're not," Spencer said. He kept his head down and refused to look up and possibly see Walker smirking at him again. "I didn't say anything about Marley."

Walker didn't reply, but Spencer heard Tom laugh. When he finally raised his head, Walker was back to photographing the kids.

Marley licked Spencer's cheek.

~

There were more kids than the previous week, and the next thing Spencer knew, it was almost four o'clock in the afternoon. They hadn't even taken a lunch break.

Once Tom got the last family out the door, Ryan J sighed dramatically and announced as he tossed his white beard aside, "Santa's officially off duty for the night. He's got a date with a shower and a large pizza."

"Which is probably three days old, yeah?" Tom replied without missing a beat.

"Pizza's pizza, Conrad, don't discriminate."

Spencer smiled as he packed up his notes for the day. His stomach was growling incessantly, reminding him that all he'd had to eat today was a Pop Tart and a cup of instant coffee.

"Whatever, dude, we both know you're going to show up at my place anyway," Walker said. "That's where all the beer is."

Ryan J balked. "How dare you insinuate that I'm so predictable!" He glanced over at Spencer, feigning a look of hurt. "Don't listen to him, he spreads lies and falsehoods."

"If by 'falsehoods' you mean 'pay for the actual pizza I'm going to eat,' then yes."

"Just for that, I'm not bringing you any cookies."

Walker laughed as he finished shutting down all the lights and equipment, save the string of green lights around the main photo backdrop. It gave the room an eerie, yet cozy green glow.

Spencer wondered if Ryan would be back in their room, or if he'd still be in the library studying, or if Brendon was done practicing for the day. Pizza sounded awesome, but Spencer didn't want to be stuck in his room eating it alone.

"So, would you be up for it?"

He blinked. Walker was leaning beside the door, watching Spencer patiently as Marley weaved in and out between his legs.

"Would I what?"

"Pizza at my place. And yeah, it'd be on me." Walker smiled, but there was something tentative about it.

"I..." There was no reason for Spencer to go. He had plenty of material for another story, and it wasn't as if he couldn't find _someone_ to get pizza with him. Hell, he had Pete's number, he could totally talk him into it.

Marley barked at him. There was a distinct doggy frown on his face.

God, he was really starting to lose it. Spencer blamed finals looming over him and a lack of real sleep.

"Okay," he finally replied, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "But I can't stay late."

"Wouldn't dream of keeping you," Walker replied, holding the door open for him.

~

Walker's apartment was within walking distance of the art department building on campus, which also meant Spencer could see his dorm from Walker's living room window. It was a little disconcerting, and it didn't help that while he was trying to find his own dorm window, Ryan finally replied to Spencer's text about his whereabouts with _aw he's taking you home now. tru luv 4evr_.

Spencer shoved his phone to the bottom of his messenger bag.

Tom and Ryan J apparently had extremely complicated tastes in pizza; it took Walker a good five minutes to order everything to their exact specifications.

"Just pepperoni, Spence?" Ryan J shook his head. "Anything without pineapple is a travesty."

"Stop trying to brainwash him," Walker said as he hung up and tossed his cell at Ryan J's head.

"I'm _educating_ him, there's a difference," he replied just as Tom, who was sprawled in Walker's ratty-looking leather armchair, said, "Jon, please tell me you don't actually have five episodes of _Ghost Whisperer_ saved on your DVR." He was armed with the remote, which he pointed accusingly at Walker.

"It's my house, and I can watch all the Jennifer Love Hewitt I want," Walker called on his way back to what Spencer assumed was the kitchen. "Spencer, you want a beer?"

Spencer, meanwhile, was suddenly distracted by a gray and white tabby cat crawling into his lap. "Uh, sure," he said, laying his hand gently on the cat's head. He wasn't much of a cat person at all, but it didn't seem to matter; said cat began to purr softly as it rearranged itself in Spencer's lap.

"That's Dylan," Tom said without looking away from the TV. "And that's Clover." He waved his hand at Ryan J, who now had a brown tabby curled up on him.

"Yup, she loves me," Ryan J cooed. "Someday I'm gonna steal her away from Walker and keep her to myself, yes I am." He nuzzled the top of Clover's head, even though the cat seemed either fast asleep or completely oblivious.

Walker came back with a handful of beer bottles and said, "For the record, Luciani, your building doesn't allow pets, and also, Clover would find her way back home, anyway." Marley was at his heels, panting contentedly as he followed Walker around the scuffed coffee table to the couch. Spencer was already seated at one end, and when Walker took the other, Marley simply wedged himself in between them, resting his head on Spencer's thigh.

Spencer laughed when Dylan all but huffed and left Spencer's lap for Walker's.

"Sorry, he hates fighting for attention," Walker replied, smirking at his cat.

"I can see why." Spencer scritched two fingers behind Marley's ear. "Marley's, like, small for a Belgian Shepard, isn't he?"

A slow, surprised smile spread over Walker's face. "Yeah, he is. The Humane Society said he was most likely the runt of the litter, so I figured we should stick together." He reached out and stroked a hand down Marley's back. "How'd you know? Most people just think he's a German Shepard mix, or maybe a Border Collie of some kind."

Spencer could feel a slight heat in his cheeks. "My cousins breed Boxers, and they show them sometimes. I've been to my share of dog shows, and I just...like learning about different breeds and stuff."

"Do you have dogs?" Tom asked, apparently conceding defeat and leaving the TV on _Ghost Whisperer_.

"Yeah, I've got two Boxers who live with my parents. I feel like I haven't seen them in forever." His parents only lived about thirty minutes outside the city, but a half hour was a long drive just to get a dog fix. It was one of the main reasons Spencer was looking forward to the Christmas break.

"Dylan was my cat at home during high school," Walker said, and he slumped back against the couch a little more to let Dylan stretch out on his chest. "I couldn't stand to leave him, so he came with me to college. Then I didn't want him home alone while I was in class, so..." He flailed his hand at Marley and Clover.

At the mention of high school, Spencer's fingers went still along Marley's muzzle. His stomach went a little tight, and suddenly he started to think that coming here might have been a really bad idea.

Ryan J was completely sprawled across the carpet in front of the TV, and Clover was all but curled up on his face. "Oh hey, you guys went to the same high school, right?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled.

Spencer's heart started to pound. He bit his lip and tried to gauge Walker's reaction out of the corner of his eye. He told himself that if the name Bambi came up at all, he was out of there, pizza be damned.

But all Walker replied was, "Yeah, we did. Spencer was a soccer player."

Spencer finally glanced over and met Walker's eyes. He looked totally sincere, not a hint of mocking anywhere in his expression. Spencer felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"I, um, wasn't that good," he mumbled, picking at the label on his beer. What the hell was he even saying?

"Oh man, I'd love hear shit on Walker from high school!" Ryan J said, pushing the cat out of his face to beam at Spencer. "Got any good stories?"

It was like being in the Twilight Zone or something. And possibly having a panic attack. "I don't—I mean, uh—"

"C'mon, guys, have mercy on me," Walker said. If Spencer didn't know better, he'd swear Walker was _blushing_.

He also swore they both breathed a sigh of relief when the doorbell rang.

"'Bout fucking time!" Tom said, and Ryan J sat up so fast he sent Clover flying over his head.

Walker got up and grabbed the wad of cash off the coffee table. He smiled sheepishly at Spencer on his way to the door.

"Thanks," he said softly.

Spencer caught himself before he replied, _For what?_ Somehow the tightness in his stomach faded, and he found himself shrugging and smiling back.

~

They ate pizza and watched another full episode of _Ghost Whisperer_. Walker had a habit of getting really emotionally invested in the ghosts, and Tom spent most of the hour "waiting for the waterworks."

"Wait, you actually _cry_ over this show?" Spencer nearly choked on his pizza crust.

"Look, the ghosts are _troubled souls_, okay, it's heart-wrenching stuff!" Walker glared as Tom and Ryan J laughed hysterically.

When the show was over, Tom pointed out Walker's turntable to Spencer, along with Walker's extensive vinyl collection he'd inherited from his dad. Spencer had never seen a record collection so perfectly intact and preserved.

Also, Walker had a first edition of _Rubber Soul_.

Spencer didn't end up getting back to his dorm until almost midnight.

"Hey there, Detective Brennan, did you and Booth finally fuck like bunnies?" Brendon called from his room.

"Fuck off," Spencer called back lazily, ignoring the way Ryan eyed him.

"So he's not so bad, huh?" he asked, arms crossed over his chest like a parent waiting for the details of their kid's first real date.

Spencer sighed as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He just...felt _happy_ for some weird reason.

"He loves the Beatles and has two cats," was all Spencer could come up with in response.

Ryan grinned. "I'll take that as a definite yes."

~

The week before finals came, and Spencer's second story on Clicks for Kids was printed; he even got a half page spread for the soundbites from the kids. Pete was ecstatic over the response to the pieces, and told Spencer that he had real talent for writing special interest stories. It wasn't what Spencer really wanted to do, but he'd take every compliment he could get, especially if it came from his editor.

There was still one more Saturday of sitting in on the charity. Spencer thought he should be more relieved at having the end in sight, not weirdly sad that his weekends were no longer going to involve Ryan J in a Santa suit and Walker scribbling down kids' wishes on a ten foot roll of fake parchment.

He took a deep breath on his way out of the journalism building to library. Whatever, it was an assignment he'd never wanted, and it was almost over. It didn't matter if Jon—if _Walker_—would probably never speak to him after the coming weekend. Spencer absolutely didn't care about that at all. What he _did_ care about was finally getting his prerequisite fluff piece out of the way and being able to write real news stories that didn't involve fake Santas and guys with really kind brown eyes who hummed Christmas carols under their breath when they thought no one was paying attention.

Spencer shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat. Yeah, it was definitely a good thing this stupid fucking story was almost done.

He was at the steps of the library when he heard a familiar voice call, "Spencer! Hey!"

Spencer looked over his shoulder and saw Walker run across the quad toward him, camera bag slung over one shoulder. His green and red plaid scarf was trailing after him in the wind, his nose and ears bright red like he'd been in the cold too long, and his hair was a mess.

He looked breathless and happy, and Spencer...kind of couldn't stop staring.

"Have you been outside all day?" he heard himself ask.

"Oh." Walker ducked his head and laughed, rubbing a gloved hand over his nose. "Yeah, I, uh. I was taking some photos around campus. I'm doing a seasons theme for my senior project, and I hadn't done any winter shots yet, so."

"You should wait until it snows. It's hard to tell the difference between winter and fall sometimes." Spencer felt like he was babbling. Why the hell was he babbling?

"But it's going to snow later today, and that's the best time, I think—that pause right before the air turns white." Walker shook his head, wincing slightly. "Sorry, I get a little sentimental about this shit. I mainly wanted to give you these—I just got them developed this morning." He handed Spencer a small stack of photos.

They were the shots he'd taken of Spencer at the club. But they weren't just ordinary photos; they were black and white and slightly grainy, with the edges overexposed. They looked _arty_; one shot even caught one of the lights from the bar shining behind Spencer, almost as if he were glowing.

They were beautiful shots, and Spencer had no idea what to say.

"Um, thanks," he mumbled, holding the pictures carefully in his hands. "These are really great, seriously."

"Yeah?" Walker actually sounded relieved. "I mean, I didn't want you to think they're creepy or anything, it's just that you, um. You photograph really well." He laughed again, and Spencer couldn't help noticing the way Walker fidgeted with the strap on his camera bag.

He shook his head. "No, no, I don't think they're creepy at all." Spencer bit his lip, then blurted out, "D'you have to study or anything right now?"

Walker shrugged. "I should be, but I spent all morning in the darkroom. I'm giving myself the afternoon off."

"You want to go get some coffee? I mean, um. I was just headed to Starbucks, anyway."

"There's a Starbucks in the library?" Walker smiled crookedly, and damn it, Spencer was back to feeling awkward again.

"No, like." He waved his hand vaguely. "I changed my mind. I need caffeine if I'm going to stay awake through my Russian History notes." Bad idea, such a fucking bad idea, he was such a lameass—

"Sure, I could use a mocha." Walker tugged at his scarf and Spencer blinked.

"Okay," he breathed. His chest felt instantly lighter.

~

They sat in Starbucks for four hours, talking about everything from movies to music to whether or not Thundercats were cooler than Transformers. Spencer barely noticed when the sky began to darken, or that tiny snowflakes were starting to fill the air. It wasn't until his phone buzzed with a text from Brendon—_going for tacos u in?_—that he realized it was almost dinnertime.

"Guess you gotta go, huh?" Jon—Walker, _Walker_—asked, cheek propped on one hand. He was still wearing his scarf.

"Shit, it's almost five." Spencer texted back _yeah i'll be back in 20 mins_. "And apparently Brendon's jonesing for tacos."

Walker laughed. "Sounds serious. I should get home, anyway. The cats haven't been fed since this morning, and that usually means Dylan's eaten anything he can chew. I've lost way too many socks to that cat."

"Dylan and Brendon have a lot in common, actually."

The smile Spencer got from that was enough to make him lose his breath a little. "Roommates and cats should be fed frequently."

"Exactly." Spencer got up slowly and shrugged his coat on. Funny how he really could care less that he'd gotten zero studying time in. "I'll, uh, see you Saturday?"

"Wait a sec." Walker took Spencer's phone from his hand and typed a number. Two seconds later, Walker's phone beeped with a text. "Figured this was overdue, yeah?"

Spencer bit back a stupid, stupid grin. "Yeah."

~

He texted Jon over two dozen times before Saturday. It wasn't his fault—Jon started asking him about whether or not Dumbledore could take Gandalf in a fight, and Spencer couldn't exactly let Jon go on thinking _Harry Potter_ was superior to fucking _Tolkien_. He spent most of his Thursday afternoon in the library listing Gandalf's superiority while half-reading his study guide notes on the Eastern Front.

It really wasn't Spencer's fault.

~

According to Tom, he and Jon had a tradition every year for the last day of Clicks for Kids.

"Jon throws a party, and I bake cookies," he said as the first batch of families came through the door of the studio. "Well, my girlfriend bakes cookies. I really just buy the booze."

"Uh, should I bring something?" Spencer asked. It wasn't even a question in his mind as to whether or not he was invited.

"Nope, just yourself and maybe your roommates if they're up for it," Jon replied, attempting to keep a little girl from mauling Ryan J as she launched herself into his lap.

Spencer didn't question that, either. He knew Ryan and Brendon were practically dying to spend time with the infamous Jon Walker—not that Spencer had been talking about him all that much. Not really. So what if Jon called him last night to talk about the cinematic genius of _Yellow Submarine_? Ryan had an iPod, he could've tuned them out.

He still sent both Brendon and Ryan a text saying _party @ jon's 2nite ur coming_.

Brendon immediately sent back _sweet!!!_, and eventually Ryan replied, _Who is this Jon person? I thought you were in love with someone named Walker._

Spencer blushed furiously and maybe regretted his invitation.

~

Jon's apartment looked like Christmas had thrown up in it.

"When the hell did you get _that_?" Spencer gaped at the giant fresh pine taking up half the living room. It was covered top to bottom in blinking multi-colored lights and about a billion red and silver ornaments.

"I skipped class on Thursday and went to a Christmas tree farm with Tom. We do it every year. Oh hey, almost forgot." He fumbled around behind the tree until the huge star on top suddenly lit up and started sparkling like some kind of holiday disco ball.

Jon beamed. "Pretty awesome, right? And it was only like ten bucks. Fuck, I love the internet."

Spencer was still trying to figure out how he and Tom even got the damn thing through the door. "You're kind of ridiculous about this holiday. Just for the record."

"Not ridiculous, _zealous_, Spence. There's a difference." He nudged Spencer in the side with his knuckle, just a simple touch, but Spencer suddenly felt too warm and oversensitive.

"Spencer, you want eggnog, or just rum and hold the nog?" Ryan J yelled from Jon's kitchen.

"Ryan makes amazing eggnog, by the way," Jon said. "I'd take him up on the offer. Or I could make you an awesome Mojito."

Spencer smirked. "That's not exactly festive. And besides, that's more Brendon's taste. That, and Fuzzy Navels."

"I like this guy already. Go play bartender with Ryan for a sec, I'm gonna go change."

"Change?"

"Oh, believe me," Tom drawled as he pushed passed them with a pint of eggnog in hand. "We can't have this party without Jon's sweaters."

Jon shrugged sheepishly. "It's, uh, kind of an obsession."

His "obsession," Spencer discovered five minutes later, revolved around hideously ugly Christmas sweaters, the kind with giant snowflakes and reindeer and gaudy Christmas trees. The kind Spencer's grandma bought for herself every year. Jon's chosen sweater had no less than a dozen tiny reindeer lined up across the front, with a snowflake pattern surrounding them. It was bright, bright holiday green, and the sleeves were too long for him.

"This one? Is my favorite," Jon said with all the earnest joy of a six-year-old. "My mom found it for me in Germany three years ago."

There had to be something wrong with Spencer's brain, because no one should want to kiss a guy wearing an old German lady's Christmas sweater. "I don't even know how to comment on this," he said, trying not to smile to hard when Jon feigned a look of hurt.

"You don't appreciate true Christmas spirit, Spencer Smith." His voice was soft, almost intimate-sounding, and he was leaning in close to Spencer like they were sharing secrets. And Spencer couldn't bring himself to lean back.

He didn't know whether or not to be grateful that Tom suddenly yelled, "Yo, Spence! Your roommates are here!"

And the next thing Spencer knew, Brendon had wriggled his way under Spencer's arm and was grinning at Jon. "Dude, Booth! Nice to finally meet you!"

Jon gave Spencer a confused look, to which Spencer quickly turned Brendon toward the kitchen and replied, "There's eggnog, and possibly Mojitos later. Go nuts."

~

Spencer wasn't a huge fan of eggnog, but Ryan J's recipe was more rum than anything, and three cups later, Spencer was definitely feeling plenty of Christmas cheer. His completely empty stomach helped a lot, too.

"Does anyone actually know the words to 'Sleigh Ride'?" he asked, frowning at Jon's stereo. He had an urge to do Christmas karaoke, but the song didn't have any _words_.

He heard Jon chuckling softly behind him. "I think they're a myth, actually."

"Damn it." Spencer huffed. "Your stereo is not very accommodating to my karaoke needs."

"I'll have to keep that in mind for next year." Jon had moved on from eggnog to his special holiday beer that was only available from some microbrewery in Chicago. The bottle's label had candy canes and holly leaves on it, and every time Jon took a sip his bottom lip got shinier and shinier.

Another round of groaning and cheering came from the kitchen, where Ryan had somehow coaxed everyone into a game of Texas Hold 'Em poker with a bag of Christmas M&Ms candy and playing cards were scattered all over Jon's dining table. Strangely enough, the more Ryan drank, the better he played, much to Tom and everyone else's dismay.

"You are not _real_, Ross!" Ryan J moaned. "You're like, fucking, James Bond in that one movie with the guy with the scar."

"That's every Bond movie _ever_, you freak," Tom's friend Sean replied good-naturedly. "We just need to up the ante—Walker, you got any Reece's cups?"

Jon rolled his eyes, then yelled back, "How 'bout York peppermint patties?"

"That'll work. This game just got too rich for Ross's blood."

Spencer heard Ryan snort. "Hardly. It's not like it's _Godiva_."

"Can we just do teams? I get dibs on Ryan," Brendon said around a mouthful of M&Ms.

"No, _no_ teams, that's fucking cheating," Tom said. "And Jesus Christ, where'd all the mint Bailey's go? Fuck, Sean, that was my Christmas present to Walker..."

Jon smiled sheepishly at Spencer. "Sorry, my parties are usually more exciting than this."

"Let me guess, Ryan ruined your planned Scrabble tournament?"

His eyes flared. "How'd you know?"

Spencer dissolved into giggles—_giggles_, shit, he really was drunk—and leaned into Jon, his hand splayed over Jon's chest. "The real question is, how did I not know you were this big of a dork in high school?" he whispered.

Jon's eyes got a little hazy and unfocused for a second. "I don't know," he whispered back, and Spencer felt fingertips brush along his waist. "I wasn't exactly Captain Cool or anything."

"Yeah, you were. God, you were the coolest guy I'd ever met, you were _perfect_." He knew it was just the eggnog talking, but Spencer couldn't help it; it was suddenly much easier to admit everything to Jon, everything he felt like they'd been avoiding since Spencer started writing about Clicks for Kids.

Jon laughed awkwardly. "I really wasn't, Spence. I think I _wanted_ people to think that, but I was basically the guy I am now—which, yeah, is a giant dork who loves his pets and DVRs lame CBS dramas." There was a faint blush over the bridge of his nose.

Slowly, all the humor drained out of Spencer as he flashed back to that second day of freshman year, of Jon mocking him in the halls, of Jon calling him _pretty_ at Homecoming—had it all been just to save face?

He swallowed and said, softly, "Do you have any idea how hard you made high school for me?"

Jon's eyes widened. "What? I thought you barely remembered me."

"I remember you, all right." Spencer gave a rueful smile as his stomach tightened. "You're the creator of Bambi Smith."

He wasn't too drunk to watch the gradual recognition dawn in Jon's eyes. "I...oh, shit," he finally whispered, taking a step back. "You—Spence, I didn't mean—"

"It's just." Spencer dropped the hand that was touching Jon too much. "I have to say this, because—because it's been kind of in the back of my mind for like three weeks now, and if I don't say it now, it'll just drive me crazy."

Instead of replying, Jon grabbed Spencer's wrist and tugged him into his bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind them. "Okay, have at it," he said, leaning back against the door.

"You made my life suck," Spencer blurted out with a second thought, and wow, did that sound way more melodramatic and mean out loud than it did in his head all these years. There wasn't any satisfaction in making Jon wince like that. But he kept going. "I thought you were the biggest dick on the planet, and if I never hear the name Bambi again for the rest of my life, it'll be too soon. I _hated_ you, like—like more than anyone else in my life."

Jon's shoulders hunched in a little. "And now?" he asked.

Spencer shoved a hand through his hair and dropped down onto the end of Jon's bed with a huff. "I didn't want to do that story on your charity. I thought I'd rather gouge my fucking eyes out than have to see you again. But I...fuck, you're just so..." He cupped both hands over his face and laughed a bit hysterically. He really wished he was sober.

"Spence, I—"

"You're just so _you_, and you always have been. I realize that now. I didn't actually hate you, I...I _wanted_ you, as lame and fucking pathetic as that sounds. But there wasn't any reason for you to want _me_; I was just some pudgy freshman who sucked at soccer. I was nobody." His heart was starting to race, his words getting faster and faster. Spencer knew he was going to regret all this in the morning, yet it was oddly freeing to get it all out.

Jon, however, looked liked Spencer had punched him in the stomach. "Can I say something?"

Spencer exhaled loudly. "Yeah."

"First of all, as dumb as this is going to sound, I...always thought you were kind of adorable in high school."

"Right." Spencer snorted.

"I'm serious. I remember you would blush really easily, and that was, I don't know, really cute." He shrugged, looking down at his feet. "The nickname was kind of my way of flirting, I guess."

Spencer nearly choked. "_Flirting_? You call naming me after a fucking baby deer in a Disney cartoon _flirting_? Do you know how long people called me that? It's etched in the cover of my goddamn senior yearbook."

Jon looked up at him through his bangs and smiled weakly. "I told you I've always been a giant dork."

He _had_ to be supremely drunk. Or maybe Jon was supremely drunk. "I don't believe you," Spencer breathed, feeling slightly dizzy.

Jon bit his lip, setting his beer on his dresser as he knelt down on the floor in front of Spencer, putting both hands on Spencer's knees. "When I saw you that first day in the studio, I remembered you—except the Bambi part. All I could think about was how fucking hot you were, and had you always been this hot?"

"Um." Spencer shifted a little against the comforter. "I'm not hot?"

"Uh, you pretty much are. I think it was the beard that threw me off a bit." He reached up and skimmed his fingers over Spencer's cheek, and Spencer was so discombobulated with everything that he couldn't help but lean into Jon's touch.

"Spencer, I'm really sorry if I made high school suck for you," Jon whispered, letting his fingertips trace the edge of Spencer's jaw. "I never meant to hurt you at all, I swear."

It was too much to process, and Spencer's brain was swimming in alcohol. He didn't want to think about what all this meant in the scheme of things, so he slid both hands around Jon's neck and pulled him closer, bending down just enough to whisper against Jon's mouth, "You could at least kiss me right now."

Jon huffed out a laugh, his hand sliding back into Spencer's hair. "I was getting to that," he breathed, pushing up on his knees into Spencer's space as he pressed their mouths together slowly, lips barely parted. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and saw little bursts of stars, even though the kiss had barely started.

Yeah, he definitely didn't hate Jon.

What he did hate was the tiny gasp he let slip out when Jon licked carefully over his bottom lip, but Jon seemed to take that as an invitation; his tongue pushed further into Spencer's mouth, sliding over his teeth, and Spencer gasped again, his hand tangling in the front of Jon's t-shirt. Jon tasted like beer and chocolate and peppermint—like _Christmas_. He was drunk enough to let himself appreciate the simile.

They kissed for what felt like hours, until Spencer found himself tugging Jon up onto bed with him. They tumbled over each other, laughing quietly in the dark as Spencer felt Jon straddle his hips and push Spencer's wrists gently back against the pillows.

"For the record, I didn't plan this for tonight," Jon said breathlessly. Spencer could hear the grin in his voice. "I figured I'd at least take you out on a proper date."

"You're way too fucking late getting me to think you're a gentleman," Spencer drawled, letting his hips roll up. He couldn't remember getting hard, but he was, and so was Jon, who bit a groan into Spencer's neck as he thrust back. Spencer knew he'd most likely have a mark in the morning, but he didn't care, this felt _amazing_, and it was _Jon_.

There was a rush of cold air against his stomach, and then Jon's lips were trailing up his sternum as he shoved Spencer's shirt up. "Sometime I'm gonna get you naked in the daylight," he whispered. "Want to see your skin all flushed."

Spencer had to suck his lip hard to keep from moaning loud enough for everyone in the kitchen to hear. He pawed around blindly until his hand found Jon's hair, pulling him up roughly to kiss him all over again, sloppy and wet. At some point he swore he hear Jon gasp his name, but it was hard to hear over the blood rushing in his ears. Their hips started grinding a rhythm again, and they groaned into each other's mouths, swallowing the sound, and Spencer really, _really_ didn't know why he ever thought this was a bad idea—

From the other side of the door, Marley barked.

Jon broke out of the kiss, panting. "Fuck, he's gotta go out. I haven't walked him in hours."

As if he could hear Jon, Marley barked again, and Tom yelled, "Walker! Your dog needs to take a shit!"

"Sorry." Jon dropped his forehead against Spencer's, then kissed his temple. "I have to take him out, or he'll pee on the couch."

Spencer was on edge and kind of desperately needing to come, but he understood completely. "No, yeah, totally, go." He dropped both arms on the comforter and took several deep, calming breaths as Jon scrambled off the bed. In the light from the window, Spencer could see how Jon's hair was all mussed and the neck of his t-shirt was stretched out.

"I'll be back, okay?" he whispered as he opened the bedroom door.

Spencer laughed, rolling onto his side and pressing his face into Jon's pillow. "Stop whispering, you nerd."

When Jon closed the door behind him, Spencer heard Brendon ask, "Is Spence in there with—oh hey, yeah, I guess he is! Nice sex hair, Booth!"

Someday Spencer was going to have to explain that to Jon. But for now, Spencer was content to bury his face in Jon's scent and let his eyes close. The room was maybe starting to spin a little.

~

The first thing Spencer registered when he woke the next morning was sunlight. Really fucking _bright_ sunlight, right in his face. Which was weird, since Spencer's bed was on the opposite side of the room from the window.

The second thing he registered was the monster headache that hit him like a ton of bricks right behind the eyes.

"Jesus fuck," he mumbled, burying his face deeper into his pillow—that most definitely did not smell like his own pillow.

Spencer's eyes flew open. This wasn't his room, and it wasn't his bed. He slowly propped himself up on his elbows and found that he was fully clothed and tucked under a blue plaid comforter.

And next to him in the bed, also curled up underneath the blanket and snoring softly, was Jon.

"Oh fuck," Spencer breathed, and his heart began hammering frantically in his chest. Jon appeared to be fully clothed as well, but—but Spencer was _in bed with him_. The night before was hazy, and it got even hazier the more Spencer tried to remember what happened after the third or fourth cup of eggnog. He remembered being pretty well trashed and wanting to do karaoke, and watching Ryan beat the rest of the group at poker, and maybe something about telling Jon he'd crushed horribly on him in high school—

_Fuck_. Spencer's stomach clenched, and it was much more than just his uber hangover. God, he'd really told him everything, hadn't he? And then—and then Jon had kissed him.

Jon had fucking _kissed him_, shit. And Spencer knew he'd melted into it like a goddamn girl, even if he couldn't recall all the details. He knew he'd all but thrown himself at Jon, which was no doubt hilarious; he didn't remember Jon's response to Spencer's drunken confessions, but he did remember kissing Jon all sloppy and desperate, like he could drink him in if he tried hard enough. Everything went fuzzy after that, but at least Spencer still had pants on; if sex had happened, he'd be naked, right? Shitshit_shit_.

At this rate, Jon would have enough material on Spencer to embarrass him into the next century. _Bambi's a total lush, not to mention totally easy in bed. You don't even have to really try!_

He couldn't stay here. Just looking at curve of Jon's shoulders under the blanket and his scruffy early morning beard made Spencer want to either spoon up against his back or throw up. And he couldn't exactly do the former.

Spencer crawled out of bed as quietly as possible, fumbling around for his shoes, which had somehow during the night been untied and placed neatly by the door. Spencer shoved them on and opened the bedroom door, only to be greeted by two very expectant-looking cats and a curious Marley.

"Sorry, guys, I don't know where the food is," Spencer whispered.

Marley cocked his head at Spencer, ears perked. Spencer swallowed tightly as he reached down to scratch under his muzzle; he probably wouldn't be coming back here, so this would be the last time Spencer would see him.

He half expected to see at least a couple of people passed out in Jon's living room, but the place was empty for the most part. The Christmas tree lights were still on, the gaudy, blinking disco star casting a shimmery gold over the couch and the armchair. Even with beer bottles and empty cups littering every spare surface, the apartment felt warm and cozy.

Spencer shrugged into his coat, trying to ignore the way Marley followed him around as he searched for his scarf and gloves. At one point, Marley butted his head up against Spencer's thigh, his tail wagging happily.

_Why did he have to have a dog?_ Spencer thought, letting his fingertips trail along Marley's coat on his way to the door.

There maybe, possibly, was a small whimper as the front door clicked shut behind him.

~

It was barely past seven o'clock in the morning, and the walk back to Spencer's dorm was cold, almost completely silent. His breath made small, staccato puffs in the air, and he counted them in time with his steps. It kept his mind busy and not thinking about Jon still asleep back in his apartment.

When he finally let himself into the building, he eventually found his room quiet and dark except for the glow of the fish screensaver on Ryan's laptop.

Spencer started to kick his sneakers off and fall into bed, but then he noticed two bodies curled into each other on Ryan's bed. He squinted, and sure enough, Brendon was wrapped up in Ryan's down comforter, and for whatever reason, Ryan was fully clothed and spooned around him on the outside of the blanket. Brendon still had his glasses on.

"You guys must've had a satisfying night," Patrick whispered, smiling at Spencer from the doorway of the bathroom. He had his MacBook under one arm. "Those two came home at three am singing Mariah Carey Christmas songs. I'm pretty sure Brendon even got Ryan doing harmony. The last I heard from them was Ryan trying to bribe Brendon out of his bed, but obviously we know how that ended."

Spencer grinned weakly as he rubbed at his temples. "Yeah, 'm sure Ryan really put up a fight."

Patrick frowned slightly. "You okay? Or do you need to puke a couple times before bed?"

"No, I'm good. Just...tired." He cupped his hands over his face, thinking, _Shit, I am so fucked._

"Bren said something about you finally hitting it off with Walker." He bit his lip, pointing awkwardly in the vicinity of Spencer's neck. "You, uh, have—there's, ah—"

Spencer's hand flew up to his throat, and he felt it instantly, the slight bruising just above his collarbone. He flushed and ducked his head, turning his back to Patrick as he took off his coat. "It's nothing," he whispered. "We were drunk, that's all."

Patrick shifted his laptop to his other arm. "That bad, huh?"

"No, I mean—it was good, just—it shouldn't have happened, and I—he doesn't really like me, anyway—"

"I meant you've got it bad for him. And dude, the guy spent an entire night taking your picture. That spells 'like' to me."

Spencer thought of all the photos Jon gave him from that night, the careful way each shot was framed, and time he'd taken to develop each one...

"It's complicated," Spencer sighed. He just wanted to go back to sleep and forget last night ever happened. Well, for the most part. He could keep bits of the kissing for late night, super secret fantasies.

Patrick shrugged, but his smile was sympathetic. "Suit yourself. I've got a final to study for." He gave Spencer a tiny salute and quietly closed the bathroom room.

Spencer put his phone on vibrate and stripped off his shirt—which still smelled like Jon's bed. He threw it at his desk chair with enough force to knock a stack of notes onto the floor, and then buried himself under his comforter, not wanting to see daylight again for at least a billion years.

~

Finals week arrived, and on Monday Spencer did a mediocre job on his Russian History exam. But he didn't really care about that.

What he really cared about was the final installment of his Clicks for Kids story coming out. Pete had told him the soundbites were going to get a color spread, and Spencer's piece would be the top story in the campus life section. It was a pretty big deal, considering it was Spencer's first real story for _The Daily Tribune_.

And yet, he couldn't bring himself to pick up one of the many copies stacked around campus. There was a finality to it that Spencer just didn't want to acknowledge yet.

That evening, he sat in Starbucks and basically watched Ryan type his Advanced Comp paper. He had a Biology test to study for, but all he could concentrate on was the booth in the corner, where he and Jon had spent an entire afternoon talking.

He really was fucked.

His phone chose that moment to ring, and Spencer figured it was Brendon wanting to grab pizza. But the display read _J. Walker_.

After the third ring, Ryan glanced up from his laptop. "You gonna answer that or what?" Then his eyes widened when he saw the slight panic on Spencer's face. "It's Jon, isn't it."

Spencer didn't answer Ryan. He hit the talk button on his phone and answered Jon.

"Hi," Jon said, and his voice sounded weirdly formal. "I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, no, I'm, um. Studying. With Ryan. Who's also studying." He winced, and Ryan rolled his eyes.

"Oh, Okay. I just wanted to...say that I read all the stories you wrote on Clicks. They're really good, you should be proud of them."

"Thanks. And I am. Proud, I mean. Pete says they're some of the best he's read."

"Good. I'm...glad I could help."

_Stop being so goddamn polite and fucking yell at me_, Spencer thought, slumping at little in his chair. "You should thank Tom and Ryan J for me, too. You guys all had a part in it." _I'm sorry, okay, I don't know what I'm doing here, I don't know what I'm doing with_ you.

"Yeah." There was a pause, and Jon huffed abruptly. "There's actually another reason why I called. I—I need someone to go deliver the photos with me on Friday."

Spencer's heart beat a little faster. "But...doesn't Tom do that with you?"

"We have a tradition, yeah, but he came down with the flu yesterday. And Ryan's got a gig with his other band that night, and I'm—I'm kind of—"

"Desperate." He sighed. Ryan was watching his every move like a hawk, and Spencer gave him the finger. "So you want me to go instead?"

"I just need help carrying all the boxes. Most of the families live within a few blocks of each other, so it shouldn't take more than a couple of hours. And I realize it's finals week and you're probably packing to go home on Friday and all, but..." Another pause. Jon took a deep breath. "Please, Spence?"

It was that tiny, tiny little hint of tentative hope in the way Jon said his name that made Spencer go warm inside. He wanted to resist it more anything, but it was a lost cause; he couldn't stop picturing the way Jon would grin hopefully at his phone if Spencer said yes.

"All right," Spencer finally replied softly. "I'll do it."

Ryan smirked at him and drew a lazy heart in the air with his index finger.

~

Spencer stood outside the rundown photo shop in the cold, bits of snow clinging to his lashes each time he blinked. He'd yet to go inside; he didn't know what to say to Jon that didn't end in _sorry I haven't call you in a week, and oh yeah, sorry for possibly having drunken sex with you._

As if reading his thoughts, his phone got a text from Jon. _Come around to the alley._

The snow was beginning to fall a bit harder, covering the sidewalks in a delicate white. For a moment, Spencer remembered Jon's senior project and how he'd been photographing the seasons. Today was a perfect day for winter.

Spencer rounded the corner of the building, and there was Jon with his camera in hand, lens aimed at the sky. Beside him were two shopping carts filled with wrapped, bow-covered boxes.

And he was wearing Ryan J's Santa hat.

A part of him wanted to simply watch Jon filming the snow, the soft click of his camera echoing in the quiet morning air. But it was freezing outside, and all the presents were going to be soggy at this rate.

Spencer cleared his throat.

Jon lowered his camera. "Oh. Hey." His smile was careful, almost shy. "Sorry, I was—"

"Getting your winter shots. I know."

"Yeah. It's a really beautiful morning."

Only Jon would think a gray, dreary, snowy Friday morning was beautiful. Spencer tugged at the sleeves of his coat, wishing they were standing a little closer together. "So...all those are the Santa pictures?" he asked, pointing to the boxes.

Jon nodded. "Tom's the wrapper, not me. I'm a firm believer in gift bags."

"They look nice."

"Good. Makes it more special, I think, than just handing them an envelope." He shifted the camera to his other shoulder and adjusted the Santa hat. "You take one cart, I'll take the other. The first house is about a block south of here."

~

They didn't speak as they wheeled the boxes of photos down the quiet, snow-covered sidewalk. Spencer kept glancing at Jon out of the corner of his eye every few minutes, but Jon kept his head down, the fluffy end of the Santa hat bouncing against his neck. He wasn't even humming carols to himself.

Spencer couldn't stand the silence. "You might as well get it over with," he said softly.

Jon didn't ask him to clarify. He just sighed and kept looking forward, eyes a little sad and resigned. "Look, I get why you've hated me all these years, and I don't blame you at all. But I meant what I said—I never meant to hurt you, and I'm sorry. I know that probably doesn't mean a whole lot to you, but it's true."

He remembered Jon saying all that last Saturday night. Spencer remembered a lot of things a week later, but it didn't change one important fact.

"We were drunk," Spencer said. "I said a lot of things I shouldn't have, and I probably, _definitely_, shouldn't have kissed you, and—"

"Spence, I kissed _you_." Jon came to a stop, finally meeting Spencer's eyes. "I wasn't drunk, either. I was barely even buzzed. I _wanted_ to kiss you, especially after you told me about how I made high school suck for you and yet you still had a crush on me."

Spencer wanted to sink into the asphalt. "God, please don't bring that up. It's not like you don't have enough ammunition on me as it is."

Jon took a step closer. "Ammunition?" he asked, just above a whisper. "I'm not out to humiliate you, Spence, I—if anything, I really just kind of, maybe. I don't know. Wanted to be your boyfriend. But then you took off on me the next morning, and I never heard from you after that, so I figured you...still hadn't gotten over it."

It was slightly hard to breath for a second. All Spencer could concentrate on was _I really just wanted to be your boyfriend_.

"I didn't mean to have sex with you," he blurted out.

Jon blinked, then burst out laughing. "Obviously, since we didn't actually have any sex whatsoever."

"But...I woke up in your bed—"

"You passed out after I got back with Marley, and it took enough energy as it was to get you under the covers, let alone wake you up to make out some more." Jon blushed, right along the tops of his cheeks. "I could've sent you home with Ryan and Brendon, but I kinda, y'know, wanted to keep you around a little longer."

There hadn't been any sex involved. Jon hadn't been drunk. Spencer might still have his dignity. "I guess I should've mentioned the part about me being kind of a lightweight," he grimaced.

"Naw, I have really hot, drunk freshman in my room all the time, trust me." Jon scrinched his nose up, wincing as he brushed snowflakes off his beard. He jerked his head toward the carts. "C'mon, let's get these delivered before all of Tom's wrapping goes to shit."

Spencer followed after him, _just wanted to be your boyfriend_ still on a constant loop in his brain.

~

As ridiculously cheesy as it sounded, Jon really loved playing Santa.

Each time a kid came to the door and he handed them their box of photos, Jon's expression was one of genuine contentment and happiness, especially when the kids would throw their arms around his legs in a fierce hug.

The parents were more subtle in their gratitude, of course, but Spencer caught more than a few tears shed when the boxes were opened.

"Today, you really are Santa," one mom said quietly, smiling at the pictures in her hands.

Jon's smile was soft. "It's my pleasure, seriously," he replied, and Spencer knew it was the truth. This was why Jon put in all the time and effort into the charity; maybe it was cliched, but he was literally spreading Christmas cheer. And that had to feel good.

Twenty-some apartments later, they came to a rather nice-looking condo that sat on a street corner facing a much more upscale neighborhood. A real pine wreath hung on the door.

"I know what you're thinking," Jon said, pushing open the wrought iron gate at the end of the walk. "And yeah, they don't look needy, right? But the mom is a friend of my sister-in-law's, and her husband's company went bankrupt earlier this year."

"And they still live here?" Spencer asked. Rent in this part of town was hardly cheap.

"Probably not for much longer," Jon replied softly as he rang the bell. "But you didn't hear me say that."

When the door opened, Spencer instantly recognized the little girl standing there as the one who had requested pink socks for Christmas.

And the weird part was that she didn't immediately beam at Jon like all the other kids—she beamed at Spencer.

"You asked me questions!" she said. "Did my name go in the newspaper?"

Spencer laughed. "Yeah, it did. You're famous." He held his hand up to give the girl a high five, very aware of Jon watching him closely.

"Mommy, I'm in a _newspaper_!"

"Good grief, Sam, don't yell, I'm right here." Her mom came around the corner into the foyer, looking slightly harried. But her eyes widened happily when she saw Jon and Spencer.

"Oh, the pictures," she breathed, covering her mouth with one hand. "I'd completely forgotten about them!"

Sam huffed impatiently. "Mom, I'm _famous_, he asked me questions and then put 'em in a newspaper!" She pointed at Spencer, who flushed and gave Sam's mom an awkward wave.

"Hi. I, uh, did a story on the charity for my school's paper—"

"Yes, I remember you! You were interviewing all the kids the day we took the pictures. I take it you used some of Sam's quotes?"

Spencer nodded, feeling a little shy for some reason. It might have had something to do with Jon still watching him and not saying a word. "Yeah, quite a few, actually. I...could send you a copy of the issue, if you want?"

She smiled at him, laying her hands on Sam's head. "That would be perfect, thank you. I can add it to Sam's scrapbook."

Jon took that moment to hand her a wrapped box. "You can add these to it, too. Merry Christmas." Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer could still see Jon glance back at him, grinning with one corner of his mouth.

"Hey, you're under the mistletoe!" Sam failed her hand over her head, indicating what appeared to be a red-painted pine cone hanging over the doorway by a silver ribbon. She looked expectantly at Jon, adding, "Now you gotta kiss someone."

"Oh." Spencer never, ever thought he'd see Jon blush that quickly. It was almost comical. "I, um—"

Her mother sighed in exasperation. "Don't worry, it's not actually mistletoe, she just _thinks_ it's mistletoe because Mom couldn't find any of the real stuff." She gave Sam a stern look. "Honey, we don't make strangers kiss on our doorstep, okay? It's not polite."

Sam rolled her eyes. "But they're _boyfriends_! They probably kiss all the _time_."

Now Spencer was just as red as Jon, not to mention desperately trying not to meet his eyes or laugh hysterically. His heart was pounding with equal parts embarrassment and anticipation—not that Jon would really kiss him or anything, not _here_—

"Well," Jon said softly. "I guess we can't break the rules of mistletoe." And the next thing Spencer knew, Jon leaned in and cupped the back of his neck, swiping his lips over Spencer's in a quick, chaste kiss. He didn't move his hand as quickly, though; his fingertips lingered at Spencer's shoulder, then slid down over his scarf and the front of his coat.

Spencer felt his eyes flutter closed and the instant urge to pull Jon closer. The snow was falling a little harder now, and he could smell the fresh pine in the air.

They were almost a living Christmas cliche'. Spencer grinned in spite of himself.

"See?" Sam said, looking pointedly up at her mother. "Boyfriends. Duh."

~

By the time the carts were empty and every package had been delivered, everything around them was covered in a good inch of white. The weather showed no signs of letting anytime soon, and Spencer knew he should be a little concerned about his drive home, only...he wasn't in a huge rush to get home just yet. His car was all packed and sitting in the parking lot back at the dorm; Ryan was no doubt already at Spencer's house, where he'd spent Christmas for the past couple years, letting Spencer's mom dote on him to an obnoxious degree. Brendon had caught a plane home to Vegas the night before.

"When are you headed home?" Spencer asked when they made it back to Jon's apartment, their cheeks bright red from the cold and their hair damp with snow.

"Tomorrow morning. My brother's coming over to help load up the animals and take them to my parents' house for the break." Jon stacked the carts and rolled them over against the bike rack near the building's front door. "I'll deal with these tomorrow, too."

Spencer huddled deeper into his coat. He could feel the awkwardness growing between them again, could tell by the way Jon shuffled his feet in the snow that neither one of them really knew what to do next. Should Spencer just tell him Merry Christmas and let them figure shit out in January? Should Jon invite him inside and order a pizza? Should they make out in the snow and hope no one walks by?

"I know you're probably all set to go home," Jon finally said tentatively. "But Tom's mom made me a lasagna that feeds an army and I've been eating on it all week. There's enough left for two people if...if you'd want—"

"Yeah, okay," Spencer replied, almost sighing in relief. "I could definitely eat." He glanced at the window into Jon's living room, and there was Marley with his paws up on the windowsill, eagerly wagging his tail.

They left their soggy, snow-covered boots in the hall by Jon's doorway, and the second Jon opened the door Marley tackled them—actually, he tackled Spencer, barking sharply as if he was reprimanding Spencer for being gone.

Dylan and Clover were curled up asleep in the armchair, utterly indifferent. Spencer didn't mind.

"Jesus, I feel like I'm soaked," Jon said, throwing his coat and Santa hat over the couch. He wiggled out of his sweater, leaving him in just his plain white t-shirt and jeans, his hair in complete disarray.

Instantly, Spencer felt a hot, sudden clench of want in his stomach. It threw him off guard for moment, because it wasn't that Jon looked hot standing there all rumpled and red-faced from the cold, but...Jon kind of looked unbearably hot. And Spencer kind of hadn't gotten over the earlier mistletoe incident.

Jon scrubbed a hand through his hair. He looked a little exhausted, but happy and content. "I'll go heat up the food and see if I've got any pop left—"

He didn't finish his sentence. Spencer walked right up into his space and put both hands on Jon's cheeks, hauling him into a hard, fast kiss. He overbalanced and staggered back a bit, pulling Jon with him, and they ended up slamming into the wall by the Christmas tree. Spencer's brain went into overdrive was he realized Jon was flush against him, thigh to chest, and even with his coat still on Spencer could feel how _solid_ he was. He wanted to run his hands all over him, _right now_.

"Sorry, sorry," he gasped, dragging his teeth over Jon's lower lip and loving the way Jon shivered. "You kissed me earlier, and I kind of can't stop thinking about it, so." He slid his hands up Jon's back, over his shoulder blades.

"Totally didn't expect that," Jon breathed. His breath hitched as Spencer scratched his nails lightly down his spine. "Kinda didn't expect this, either, but I'm sure as fuck not complaining." He nipped at Spencer's jaw, hands shoving his coat to the floor. Spencer never thought this shit out—he should really think about getting naked _before_ he jumped someone. He should also consider getting them to a bed or something instead of a wall, but he wasn't about to stop. So what if Marley was watching? At least the tree mostly hid them from the cats.

But thinking about making out against walls made him somehow think of his one and only time with a guy in high school, of extremely awkward blowjobs in the locker room after hours. It made him wonder how many times Jon had had someone in this exact same position.

"Does, ah, Marley see you get a lot of action like this?" Spencer asked against his better judgment, biting back a groan as Jon licked over his neck.

Jon looked up, his eyes dark. "If you're trying to ask how many guys I've been with, the answer's not many. I'm kind of old-fashioned."

Spencer laughed, high and a little too breathless. "Are you saying you're in love with me?"

He shrugged, nosing his way up Spencer's throat and cheek before kissing the corner of his mouth, his hands splayed low on Spencer's stomach. "I could be. I mostly meant I like trusting people before I get naked with them, but if you're dying for me to fall in love with you..."

"God, just shut the fuck up." Spencer couldn't stop grinning like freak.

"I can do that, too." There was just enough height difference between them that Jon had to tip his head up a fraction of an inch to smile up at Spencer, biting the edge of his lip like he was actually _nervous_.

_It wouldn't be so bad, being in love with you_, Spencer found himself thinking, just as Jon began slowly sinking to his knees.

Oh. _Oh._

"Oh, fuck," he gasped, and if he wasn't totally hard before, he was definitely there now. It had been ages since he'd had someone's hands on his thighs like that, tugging his jeans down.

"This okay?" Jon whispered. His mouth was hovering over Spencer's bellybutton, lips brushing the edge of his boxers. "I'm not trying to rush you or anything, I just—I really want to—"

"Y-yeah, god, you can do whatever you want," Spencer babbled, because holy fuck, Jon wanted to blow him. Jon Walker, whom Spencer had once thought he hated more than anyone ever, was basically telling him he wanted to suck his cock, and they weren't even naked.

Jon laughed softly, which caused warm air to puff out over Spencer's crotch. He expected some snarky comment, but what he got instead was Jon carefully parting the slit of Spencer's navy boxers to take his cock out. It gave an embarrassing little twitch when Jon licked his lips.

He held his breath as Jon looked up at him through his bangs and whispered, "Can you—I want to see you do it. See what you like."

Never in a billion years until that moment would Spencer have thought he'd be asked to jerk off with Jon's mouth not two inches away. And never in a billion years would Spencer would have thought he'd want to do it like _burning_.

His hand shook slightly as he reached down and palmed himself, gasping softly at both the sensation and the way Jon's eyes flared. Spencer stroked once, but then stopped and winced.

"I have to—I mean, I need—" He swallowed and quickly brought his hand up to lick his palm. Jon watched his every movement, pupils totally shot. "I like it wet," Spencer whispered before wrapping his fingers back around his cock.

"God," Jon breathed, and he licked his lips again.

This wasn't going to last if he kept that up. Actually, it wasn't going to last, period. Spencer squeezed his eyes shut and tried to think about something not sexy, namely anything that wasn't Jon on his knees with his lips all shiny and parted. It didn't work very well, and it _really_ didn't work the moment hot, hot heat sank over the head of his dick and he felt the slickness of Jon's mouth hitting his fist.

_Cold showers. His grandma naked. Baseball stats._ But his body was pretty much eager and ready to come, regardless of Spencer wanting to hold on.

He pawed at Jon's hair, refusing to open his eyes—seeing Jon's mouth full would only make things worse. "Gotta—gotta stop, shit," Spencer panted, and it took every ounce of strength he had not to thrust his hips up.

Jon made a soft huffing noise, which sounded disturbingly like a laugh. He didn't let up.

"Jon, c'mon, I can't—"

Fingers suddenly batted Spencer's hand out of the way, and then it was Jon's fist pumping him in time with his mouth.

Shit, this was really happening. And Spencer had to see it. He'd probably die, but it would so be worth it.

Spencer forced his eyes open and looked down the length of his body to find Jon's knees spread and his left hand curled around the base of Spencer's cock, his cheeks hollowing out slightly with each pull of his mouth. His face was soft, his cheeks flushed, his jaw loose like he could suck Spencer for hours. But the part that got Spencer more than anything was the way Jon's right hand was rubbing frantically over the front of his jeans.

He was getting off on getting Spencer off. It had to be the hottest fucking thing Spencer had ever seen.

With a strangled whimper, Spencer dropped his chin to his chest and came. He didn't watch Jon swallow, but Jon didn't pull off until well after Spencer was wrung out and boneless.

"Holy shit," Spencer gasped. He knew he should pull his jeans back up, but that seemed like a lot of work. He managed to open his eyes and grinned crookedly when Jon wobbled a bit as he got to his feet. The front of his jeans looked a little damp. And sticky.

"Holy _shit_," he said again with a breathless laugh. "Did you seriously—?"

"It's been a while, shut up," Jon mumbled, letting his weight melt into Spencer. He pressed his face into the curve of Spencer's neck, and even though Spencer was still kind of half naked and Jon just _came in his jeans_, it felt good to be snuggled. The wall wasn't the most comfortable thing ever, but he didn't care.

"You, um. Wanna go get in bed for a while?" Jon whispered. "Or we can eat. I'm honestly not picky right now."

Spencer slowly dragged his fingers through Jon's hair. "Bed. Food can wait."

"Thank god."

He ended up kicking his jeans, shoes, and socks off in the living room and following Jon into his room in just his shirt and shorts. Jon shed his ruined jeans, and Spencer felt a little stupid watching him change into a clean pair of boxers, even if, yeah, getting to see Jon's ass in plain view wasn't a bad thing at all. Marley sat in the doorway, ears cocked curiously.

"Have we scarred him?" Spencer asked.

"Dude, he's watched porn with me and Tom, and he's seen Ryan J naked. Nothing could scar him at this point."

Marley wuffed quietly, making them both laugh. Jon backed him out of the room as he closed the door, whispering, "Naptime, buddy."

Jon's feet were freezing against Spencer's once they buried themselves under the blankets, and Spencer knew he probably smelled like sweat. But none of it seemed to matter as Jon spooned up against his back, his beard scratching softly against Spencer's shoulders.

"'m glad you gave me a second chance, Spence," he heard Jon say in the dark, fingers tracing the dip at Spencer's waist.

Spencer smiled into Jon's pillow. "Can I call you Thumper every once in a while?"

He felt Jon's lips brush the back of his neck. "How 'bout Flower instead?"

"Deal."

~

They slept for two hours, and then ate lasagna while watching old _Fresh Prince_ reruns. There was a little more making out on the couch, but eventually Jon had to force Spencer to leave.

"Your parents are waiting on you, dude. Besides, you'll be back here in a few weeks," he said, kissing Spencer's chin before he rolled off the couch and tossed Spencer his coat and scarf.

Spencer felt stupidly sentimental as Jon nudged him out the door. Four weeks felt like a long time.

As if reading Spencer's thoughts, Jon leaned in and whispered against Spencer's lips, "Stop worrying, I'm not going anywhere."

He may have grabbed onto Jon a little too tightly as he'd kissed him back one more time.

It was well past dark by the time Spencer got to his parents' house. Of course, Ryan was there, grinning smugly at Spencer's mussed hair.

"Thought you were snowbound," he smirked. "Thank god you had Jon to save you."

Had Spencer's parents not been standing right there, Spencer would've given him the finger.

"Ryan says you've been working with this Jon guy on a story for your paper," his mom said. "And that you two went to high school together. Do I know him? Was he someone special?"

Ryan coughed loudly, and Spencer tried his best not to blush like an idiot. But he looked Ryan straight in the eyes as he replied, "Yeah, Mom. I think he was, actually."

"Booth and Brennan forever," Ryan whispered, and gave Spencer a best friend fist bump.

~

On Christmas Eve, Spencer got a text from Jon.

_Merry Christmas, Bambi. Love, Flower_

It was the lamest, dorkiest, corniest text Spencer could possibly imagine.

It was perfectly Jon.

~

_He tells himself he's too old to be missing someone just because it's almost Christmas. Ryan never liked the holidays, anyway, but he always brought Spencer candy canes during the last week of school. Spencer remembers hiding them away for snacks in his backpack, until all his books smelled like peppermint._

_It's just been a crappy day: Spencer failed his algebra test, and he's wearing his favorite suede shoes on the day it decides to snow five hundred feet. It kind of just makes sense for him to be missing Ryan like crazy right now._

_He leans his forehead against his locker door, thinking of Vegas and eighty degree Christmas Eves and all his old friends back home._

_A hand taps his shoulder. "Smile, Bambi, it's almost Christmas!" a familiar voice whispers in his ear._

_Spencer jerks his head up, only to catch Jon Walker smiling at him over his shoulder on his way down the hall. He glares a little, cheeks automatically flushing bright pink, but Jon just winks back._

_Like Christmas can just fix everything. Yeah, right. Spencer's not a five-year-old._

_Walker's such a jerk._

end.


End file.
